pt, Shin Shira's or that of the guide.

MYSTERY NO. III

THE MAGIC CARPET

It was just at the end of the school term, and I had received a letter
from my young cousin Lionel, who was at Marlborough, reminding me of my
promise that he should spend a part at least of his holidays with me.

"Mind you're at the station in time," he had said; "and, I say! please
don't call me Lionel if there are any of our fellows about, it sounds so
kiddish. Just call me Sutcliffe, and I'll call you sir--as you're so
old--like we do the masters. Oh yes! and there's something I want you to
buy for me, very particularly--it's for my study. I've got a study this
term, and I share it with a fellow named Gammage. He's an awfully good
egg!"

"What extraordinary language schoolboys do manage to get hold of," I
thought as I re-read the letter while bowling along in the cab on my
way to the station, which, a very few minutes later, came in sight, the
platform being crowded with parents, relatives and friends waiting to
meet the train by which so many Marlburians were travelling.

There was a shriek from an engine, and a rattle and clatter outside the
station, as the train, every window filled with boys' excited faces,
came dashing up to the platform.

"There's my people!" "There's Tom!" "Hi! hi! Here I am!" "There's the
pater with the trap!" "Hooray!" To the accompaniment of a babel of cries
like these, and amidst an excited scramble of half-wild schoolboys, I
at last discovered my small cousin.

"There he is!" he said, pointing me out to a young friend who was with
him; and coming up he hurriedly offered his hand.

"How are you, _Sutcliffe_?" I asked, remembering his letter.

"All right, thanks," he replied. "This is Gammage. I wanted to show you
to him. He wouldn't believe I had a cousin as old as you are. See,
Gammage?"

Gammage looked at me and nodded. "'Bye, Sutcliffe; good-bye, sir," said
he, raising his hat to me and hurrying off to his "people."

"I say! don't forget the rug, Sutcliffe!" he bawled over his shoulder
before finally disappearing.

"Oh no! I say, sir! _That's_ what I want to ask you about," said
Sutcliffe, scrambling into the taxi, and settling himself down with a
little nod of satisfaction.

"What?" I inquired, as we bowled out of the station.

"Why, a rug for my--our--study," said the boy. "Gammage has bought no
end of things to make our room comfortable, and they've sent me up some
pictures and chai